


make a home in you and me

by DarkColdSummer



Series: sheltered from the universe (but i’ll open up for you) [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (because they get reincarnated), Alien Technology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bullying, Canon Universe, Found Family, Gen, How Do I Tag, Not Really Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Platonic Soulmates, Reincarnation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tags Are Hard, Team Voltron Family, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, Trans Character, Transphobia, also the only reason i ever wanted to write this was for found family fluff, and then a chaptered plan pretty much fell into my hands .-., blade of marmora, chosen names, did i mention i only wanted to write this for found family?, i planned and wrote out chapter 15 before i even started chapter 3, its 7 chapters in and everyone still hasnt met yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkColdSummer/pseuds/DarkColdSummer
Summary: It takes Team Voltron a total of thirteen lives to come in a full circle.It takes them fourteen(thirteen and a half?)lives to take down Zarkon.It takes them fifteen lives before the universe returns to a relative state of peace.No one ever said becoming Defenders of the Universe would be easy!-(basically, i had an idea and what if the Paladins of the Old and the new Paladins were one and the same?)
Relationships: Alfor & Blaytz & Gyrgan & Trigel & Zarkon (Voltron), Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro
Series: sheltered from the universe (but i’ll open up for you) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793773
Kudos: 39





	1. i could never find the right way to tell you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's been ages since I've written anything so I can't remember how A/Ns work. I think this is gonna go at least somewhat decently though! It's the first work I've ever even succeeded in semi-planning. 
> 
> It's uh... Also kind of messy though. Sorry about that. 
> 
> (Chapter titles from Shelter by Porter Robinson and Madeon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What’s a story without a beginning? Team Voltron ~~team name pending future lives since Voltron technically hasn’t been invented yet~~ find each other in their first life. Foundations for relationships are set and Altea is a great place to be! ~~Shiro~~ Phelenora proceeds with suspicion and ends up pretty much eternally screwing up her relationship with one of her ~~soulmates~~ mirphlings.
> 
> _Alternatively, Shiro (??? He supposes it feels more accurate than the name he was given at birth…) undergoes some serious self-reflection._

_Their first lives go something like this:_

~~_Shirogane_ ~~ _Phelenora - Nora, actually, because Phelenora is way too long and formal for her likings - is no mechanic, sage, alchemist or conceptualist. Still, she finds herself in the role of the tester, one of the pioneers of the Mind Meld set._

_Maybe starting earlier would make more sense._

_Nora wakes up one day with four other people in her head._

_…It’s a lot more normal than it sounds._

_Her mirphling bond seems to have finally taken form, if the mental screaming of words and sentences that are decidedly not hers or in her voice are any indication. And it’s normal, it’s perfectly normal because mirphling bonds are so varied and reveal themselves in all different shades and forms and shapes, something like this was bound to happen eventually so can whoever’s still screaming please shut up?_

_The mentally screaming Altean shut up. Or at least Nora hopes her other(s) is(are) Altean. It would make things a lot easier than if they’re Balmeran or, wow, Galran would be hard… Or, or or! Stars forbid, from an undeveloped planet that hasn’t achieved space exploratory status yet. Any of those possibilities would take forever and three decaphoebs to find, and even longer to sort out the politics._

_Yes, they’re from Altea. How do they know they’re from Altea? They’re probably speaking for themselves but while they’re at it, they’re from Altea too. Can it just be established that they are all from Altea?_

_…Maybe it’s not more normal than it sounds._

_Maybe, the lack of normalcy is the number of people in the singular bond. It makes it loud, noisy, chaotic, but so so worth it._

_Nora recognises two of the voices, albeit somewhat distantly - a rising alchemist known for his raw talent and a sage known for their theories in alchemy, even without any natural inclination towards it. Anyone even remotely interested in the alchemical field knows about the duo, and Nora is no exception. She is already rising the ranks in the Altean Fleet and everyone knows how much the Fleet relies on alchemy. She’s just… doing her due research, after all. Just in case._

_Nora isn’t sure how her parents learn about her bond, but they push her to register it regardless. She finds the alchemist and the sage within the movement - Caslas and Veririn - along with their fourth, an entirely self-taught mechanic named Reynor. An entirely self-taught mechanic who, also, seems to be the only one out the four of them that can cook a decent meal._

_There’s something about their bond that screams “Not Romantic”, that much they can agree on, even without their fifth - it’s there in the little indescribable but so so loud ways. Something in the way that Caslas and Veririn act around each other, and how Nora has to physically step in and separate them sometimes when their bickering goes too far. Something in the way that Reynor hugs them all gently whenever they meet and whenever they part._

_It’s not complete. There’s something inherently missing in their bond - their fifth who never registered her bond with the registry. It’s also incomprehensible, to an extent, how something can feel incomplete when she - when all of them - has nothing else to rate the completeness against. It’s something that all four of them agree on._

_Their fifth is an enigma, never revealing too much about herself, yet revealing so much. She shares a lot, but it’s never anything important or significant. Nothing identifiable. Her brain speeds faster than a teleduv and she thinks a lot about how soulmate bonds could possibly be replicated, which strikes something in Veririn._

_Nora doesn’t understand much of what spirals from that series of mental discussions, but she understands that her bondmates are trying to replicate their bond using technology. It’s strange, it’s ridiculous, yet she believes they can do it, even if one of them is at large._

_(She’s their beta tester whenever they need it.)_

_(They need her help a lot.)_

\- - -

He is thirteen and strangely enough, incredibly _lonely_ and _lost_ and _homesick_.

His name is wrong, his home is wrong, his family is wrong, his face is wrong-

_He_ is wrong.

_Shiro_ \- because even if he has no idea where it came from, that name is strangely _right_ amongst all the _wrong_ things in his life- Shiro is thirteen and he is surrounded by family, surrounded by people who call him their friend, people who he willingly calls friends in return, and all around him is people people _people_ more people _more people_ , and he’s not _alone_ but he’s still so so _lonely_. Not alone but lonely because the people he’s looking for aren’t where they should be, he isn’t where he should be, _why can’t he be where he should be?_

Shiro is thirteen and he looks into the stars and feels the weight of way more than a decade on his shoulders because out there in the stars is a map he can and will chart with fragments of not-quite memories, and things that feel like he learnt them twenty years ago and are just out of grasp but he’s _thirteen_ so how would that work anyway? Out there in the stars is a path he’s taken before and is not going to stop trying to take again because he has to-

Shiro is thirteen and he has never felt so out of place in his own home, homesick for a home that’s not his own. And isn’t that saying something because what is he comparing it with? What else does he have to compare this with? Why does he feel the need to compare it? Where else would he consider a home if not the place he’s been born and raised in this lifetime?

Shiro is thirteen and his parents (but not _his_ , not quite, not with the echoes of a distant past, an inexistent past, another past, _what_ other past could there even be) tell him that he’s still growing, it’s normal, everything will be fine when he finds his soulmate (but why does _“You’re alive!”_ haunt his dreams like a ghost he can never be rid of, not in this life a thousand lifetimes; why does “soulmate” try to roll off his tongue but fail consistently, something decidedly _off_ about it?).

Shiro is not thirteen when his soulmate bond matures and he wakes up one morning with scrapes on his knees. (He’s ten when it does.) Not normal scrapes, no, that would be too simple for him (and why would that not be the case? When has his life not been simple? It’s about as simple as it can get so far). The scrapes on his knees are an unnaturally bright neon green.

It signals the opening of the floodgates.

Red is vicious and wild, because Shiro almost constantly walks around with knuckles bruised a deep ruby red. Red is vicious, but Shiro knows, knows it in a way that he _really_ shouldn’t be able to, that there’s no malice. That Red is probably protecting a person, a possession, an ideal, anything, but not instigating.

Green is careful and inquisitive in all the ways Red is not, neon green injuries small, far and few in-between and even so, mostly the precision of a needle jabbing a little too hard into a palm or little marks that look like burns on their fingers, the knee scrapes probably an outlier in the long term.

Blue is sharp in a way that Shiro thinks is _wrong_ , because blue is the colour of the oceans, of water, and Blue’s waters should be calm, in control, adaptable, not wild and vicious like Red’s flames, so why does Shiro walk around with sapphire blue knuckles almost as much as ruby red ones?

Yellow is like Green, the sunshine yellow marks being oh-so small, with marks that are probably burns from cooking or something, something heavy dropping on Yellow’s toes, but not like Green in the manner that they happen much more often. Yellow is careless in a way Green is not, but careful in a way Red is not.

Shiro walks around with colours painted all over his body, marks of what his soulmates are going through. He wonders what his colour is - he’s not picky, but he thinks he likes black the most. (There’s something ironical about the colours that he can’t quite place, like he’s missing a puzzle piece; it feels like everything in his house has been shifted left by half an inch but applied to his whole life-)

It carries on like that.

\- - -

_Lilari is… strange, for a lack of better phrasing. She had showed up during the exhibition of the Mind Meld set, ran her fingers over it and smiled at Veririn, the one manning the booth at the time. “I knew you were excited over the idea, but I didn’t think a fleeting idea like that would spiral this far!”_

_Nora isn’t quite sure where the other fits into their makeshift bond, isn’t even sure if Lilari belongs with them. If she did, why did she wait so long to meet them?_

_“A matter of trust, I suppose,” Lilari had shrugged when posed the question. “I didn’t know any of you outside of your reputations. I’d rather wait and feel things out first. Get to know you without the obligation of the bond in the way.” She paused for a moment, then grinned and tapped her head, continuing. “Though I suppose the ‘without the bond in the way’ part was kind of hard with a mind link.”_

_For all intents and purposes, it’s a valid reason. But it still doesn’t make Nora trust her any more either._

_(Maybe that’s Nora’s fault. Her time training and becoming the top pilot and strategist in the Fleet is most definitely showing itself.)_

_“What do you want?” Nora asks one day, after much mutual skirting around the issue. Her question is vague, and she contemplates rephrasing it. She doesn’t need to._

_“A family,” Lilari replies, looking a little too melancholic about it. “Though I do suppose I already have it.”_

_And they do. Even if Lilari isn’t who Nora expected from their mind link - a tailor, can you believe it? Nora would’ve thought she’d be another sort of genius inventor like the others, someone that wouldn’t be completely out of place in their bond - even so, she looks closer._

_Lilari has what can be clearly interpreted as a sibling rivalry with both Veririn and Caslas, even if it’s far more intense with the latter. But petty bickering? Veririn takes all of that from their newly met bondmate. It’s almost unbelievable how quickly that bond was formed. She goes to Reynor for emotional guidance and everything else parental._

_The only issue is, Nora thinks, a little sourly, that Lilari’s relationship with her is way too strained._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter numero uno!


	2. have you noticed i’ve been gone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rising action begins. Voltron actually exists in this life and Team Voltron is officially formed (in terms of diplomatic relationships. Everyone knows the story of Voltron and the Lions and how they started, there’s no need to really repeat it.) ~~Keith~~ Alfor finds his mirphlings and, while trying to settle tensions between their planets, burn down a building.
> 
> _Alternatively, Keith (Skyla? Names are weird.) meets someone with just as many scars as him (her? Gender is a construct created by humanity to control the population.)._

_Their second lives go a little more…_

_There’s an open secret in the Altean court: Prince_ ~~_Keith_ ~~ _Alfor has lived a life before this._

_The details of his past life aren’t specifically stated to the public, but everyone sees it in the little ways he interacts, the understanding of alchemy that isn’t just prodigal, it’s completely impossible to achieve without prior knowledge. He is too young to have learnt all this so quickly - were he not next-in-line to the Altean throne, he would definitely be top in the alchemical field._

_He was born with a silver crown on his head and a silver crown on his wrist. They aren’t the same. They don’t even remotely look the same, colour aside - he would know. He looks at them both for constant comparison. He doesn’t wear the crown on his head. It doesn’t feel right._

_(He indulges less in the proper princely things and more in the alchemy that had brought him fame, albeit unwanted, and the mirphlings of his past life, rather than the politics or the wars. Caslas lived a good life, even if he made mistakes. Alfor is going to learn from said mistakes.)_

_(He wonders if the five coloured gems on the crown on his wrist means anything. He hopes that his mirphlings are the same. He misses all four of them. He never thought he would even think it, but his head is a little too empty without them.)_

_One day, he is so incredibly bored, so he searches up Caslas in the database. Then Phelenora. Veririn. Lilari. Reynor. Every one of them has a biography attached to their names, scarily detailed and all hailing them as pioneers of the Mind Melt set (even if it is just a passing note in Nora’s section and the only thing stated, even just briefly, in Lilari’s). Yet somehow. Somehow, there is no trace mention of their link with each other anywhere outside of speculations._

_(It leaves him feeling so awfully awfully empty. He tells as much to his close friend, Coran.)_

_Mind Melt Sets are not the same as they used to be before, which is to be expected, what with hundreds of decaphoebs of development. They still remain a keystone of Altean’s society, which pleases Alfor greatly. Even so, the changes leave him a little nostalgic. Even if things are better now, even if things have improved now, he still longs for days long past._

_His father dies solar systems away, invited to another planet as a diplomat but killed to send a message. Alfor may still be considered young but he does know enough to know that this means war._

_And this war? It’s personal and it’s too important - he can’t afford to be distracted by any others._

_(If that means somehow miraculously settling the, admittedly ending, war with Daibazaal, the disagreement with Rygnirath, the growing rivalry with Nalquod and the fight for resources with the many races in the Dalterion Belt before engaging in the new war? Then so be it.)_

\- - -

Somehow, family seems like a strange and distant idea.

It really shouldn’t be, especially not to him. (“Girl,” his mother corrects absently. “You are a girl, like Patricia, Renee, Olivia and I. We aren’t boys, Skyla. You should know that by now. Tyler and Daddy are boys.”)

Keith thinks this is all very much stupid. He knows which gender he is - he may be seven, but he’s no idiot. He’s clearly a boy! In what way, shape, or form has he displayed any inclination towards the girly side of things? (He’d make a dig at the name “Skyla” to emphasise his distaste, but something is strangely right about it. Not in the way “Keith” is, but close enough. Close enough to not kick up a fuss when he hears it.)

Anyway, Keith should be very familiar with the idea of family. He comes from a large family after all, with his mother and father, older sisters Patricia, Renee and Olivia and older brother Tyler. It’s _very_ big.

…It doesn’t feel right.

According to everyone else, Patricia, Renee, Olivia, Tyler, Mommy and Daddy are his family. That’s what everyone tells him and it sure seems like it, but it definitely doesn’t _feel_ like it.

He trusts his _feelings_ more than he trusts the words of unfamiliar people like literally everyone else who tells him that.

Anyway, he is seven and he grows a collection of many different coloured scars and school? School is not friendly.

“Why do you draw on so many?” Someone asks him one day.

“Draw what?” Keith replies, discreetly sliding his sketchbook to a side.

“The scars,” she says, nose scrunched up. “I don’t see why you would draw them every day! It must be tiring.”

“The scars?” Keith echoes. “I don’t draw them. They’re real.”

“What?” The girl frowns. “No way. People shouldn’t have so many soulmates.”

_Mirphlings_ , something tells him. _Kantezante. Remember_.

“Shut up,” he says instead, turning away from her. “You don’t know anything.”

He hears a sniff behind him as he turns back to his sketchbook. Then, loudly: “Miss Karen, Skyla’s being mean to me!”

He snaps around and punches her in the nose.

-

After that incident (The Incident is what the people he lives with calls it), he gains a reputation. Guys team up to pick on him, girls whisper about him behind his back. He goes home with bruises and bleeding knuckles.

It’s far more familiar than it has any right to be, but Keith’s grown use to subtle wrong-ness or right-ness of things around him.

And everything around him goes stagnant - that’s his new normal - until he meets someone, two years later.

“Hey _Keith_!” Someone calls, somehow making his chosen name sound like an insult. Which, he supposes, is - to them at least.

He ignores them.

“We found another attention-seeking freak like you!”

At that, he turns around and glares at the boy taunting him, sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. It dies as soon as his eyes meet that of the newly transferred student in the grip of the bully, a mess of rainbow marks covering their skin. There’s a flare of _right-ness_ and he finally finally feels like himself. There’s a name on the tip of his tongue, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t quite place it.

“What,” the bully taunts, dragging the poor kid by the wrist. “Cat got your tongue?”

The cat has decidedly “got his tongue”, but nonetheless, he punches the guy, grabs his new schoolmate’s wrist, and _runs_.

\- - -

_Ending all of the listed issues is surprisingly simple._

_The Galrans of Daibazaal are first._

_Emperor Zarkon is not what Alfor expected of a Galran, especially having been raised with the stories of the bloodthirsty Galrans._

_“Greetings, King Alfor,” Zarkon says smoothly._

_“Emperor Zarkon,” Alfor replies similarly, but feeling extremely uncomfortable in his own skin. “Good to see you.”_

_Alfor steps forward and reaches out to lightly tug the Galran leader’s ears - a formal Altean greeting - before he can stop himself, but is pleasantly surprised when Zarkon responds in turn. For some reason, there’s a familiarity in Zarkon’s touch, something incredibly gentle, something that reminds Alfor of times past._

_They seat themselves down at opposite sides of the table._

_“When did you learn that?” He asks, conversationally. It’s a simple question that should warrant a similarly simple response._

_“It doesn’t matter,” Zarkon flushes slightly red in what must only be embarrassment. “Not anymore. Shall we continue with what you wished to discuss?”_

_“Of course,” Alfor says mildly._

_It’s surprisingly easy for them to come to an agreement and Alfor sorta wants to tear his hair out because - if it’s this easy, why hasn’t anyone before him tried to end the war with Daibazaal yet?_

_Zarkon accompanies him to the next area: the Dalterion Belt. There, they are introduced to Representative Trigel._

_“Representative Trigel, is it perhaps impolite to ask where you got that mark?” Zarkon asks the moment they are alone._

_Trigel reaches up, fingers brushing a silver crown on her forehead.“You mean this?”_

_Zarkon nods._

_“It is the representation of my Match Bond,” she explains. “I believe that for this one, I’ll have to find those with matching representations.”_

_“Like this?” Alfor asks, impulsively pulling his right sleeve up to reveal an identical silver crown on his wrist._

_“That explains a lot,” Zarkon comments, taking Alfor’s wrist to observe the mark carefully. “We call them kantezan, or kantezante for multiple, on my planet. I have the same mark on my side.”_

_“That’s all nice and well,” Trigel says, crossing her arms. “But we should get down to business and leave our personal lives outside of this discussion.”_

_They drop the subject matter and negotiate a treaty._

_Rygnirath and Nalquod are already allies, which makes things easier on trying to recruit them into the alliance. What does not make it easier, however, is the number of times war has nearly broke out between Nalquod and the Dalterion Belt._

_By Nalquod custom, they cook a meal together._

_“Don’t look at me like that!” Gyrgan of Rygnirath protests when he suggests as much and gets stared down by four different people. “It’s good team bonding and it pleases the Nalquod masses?”_

_Everyone turns to look at Blaytz of Nalquod instead. “First of all, here’s the obligatory yes, that’s true, thank you for raising that option, Gyr, my dearest Fated. Secondly, if we do something like that based on Nalquod culture, we should do something related to the culture of the Dalterion Belt as well. Thirdly, remember the last time we did that? I nearly flooded my house!”_

_“It can’t be that bad,” Zarkon says. “Let’s try it.”_

_“This is going to end terribly,” Blaytz declares._

_“No it’s not,” Alfor insists._

_-_

_“I told you so,” Blaytz whispers, nudging Alfor. The latter offers only a half-hearted glare (Lilari always loved to pick at Caslas like that), before attempting to find more water to douse the flames taking over the building._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus introduces chapter 2 out of projected 16! Welcome to the beginning of plot town in past lives, but 2 out of 5 of introductory arc in the present life. ...Yeah, it's kind of confusing.
> 
> [This](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886048) is an elaboration of Alfor's POV of their second life, featuring homesickness.


	3. ‘cause i left behind the home that you made me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s karma, maybe it’s just a series of coincidences, maybe it’s where she needs to be. Who knows? The universe works in strange, strange manners. (Still, 6500 decaphoebs?) ~~Pidge~~ Marmora starts a rebellion, finds her soulmates, nearly kills/gets killed by said soulmates and accidentally gets the rebellion named after her when she gets blown up failing to protect Red. (What do you mean that’s not talked about?)
> 
> _Alternatively, Pidge (What sort of name is Catherine anyway?) is old beyond her years and her parents think she’s either crazy or an alien. (I mean… Technically…?)_

_In their third lives,_ ~~_Pidge_ ~~ _Marmora is Galran, the Galra Empire has been reigning for the past seven thousand or so decaphoebs (why she reincarnated only after six thousand and five hundred-ish decaphoebs is another issue altogether), a shell of her kantezan is sitting on the throne of the Empire (there’s no way she’d reincarnate without all her kantezante - she thinks - so there’s no way that’s actually Zarkon - she thinks), and she has four sets of words on her wrists._

_Any trace of her first planet has been wiped out - she remembers that._

_She also remembers staring in shock as Zarkon declares war on Altea, on Alfor, on everything the Paladins of Voltron once stood for. What happened to him? What happened to Veririn’s unofficial older sister? What happened to everything that made Nora Nora and everything that made Zarkon Zarkon? She’s missing something. She doesn’t like the feeling of missing something._

_She remembers fleeing Altea in the Green Lion - her baby Green. Remembers helping the locals of the planet she landed Green on, helping them develop. Remembers teaching them the legend of Voltron, building a hill-like shield over Green and chatting with Gyrgan (because Alfor is dead and Zarkon is out of reach and Blaytz is missing in action) over the Lion’s comms occasionally (because too often might draw attention from the Galra Empire)._

_But that’s all her past lives._

_In this life, Marmora has a job to do - Vrepit Sa and all - and does not, by any means, like what the words on her wrist hint at._

_“Don’t try to run away from the consequences”? (That’s definitely from Caslas. Alfor. Whatever name he goes by in this life. The spite in that phrase is simply and uniquely incredible.)_

_“Well this life sucks”? (That’s definitely Nora’s/Zarkon’s/insert-new-name-here’s enthusiasm there. Well, enthusiasm or lack thereof.)_

_“I don’t quite trust you”? (Most likely Reynor/Gyrgan. He has always had an incredible instinct on who to trust and who not to.)_

_“Please don’t make me do this”? (By process of elimination, probably Lilari/Blaytz. Though… it doesn’t feel quite right. Blaytz is way more confident than that.)_

_Whichever way, none of her words sound great. She has no clue what sort of words they are - first, last, most important, etc. - but she does know that she does not like them. At all._

_Oh, and Marmora definitely knows that she’s definitely going to grill Zarkon’s reincarnate for whatever in the name of the Ancients made him think that taking over the universe was a valid goal._

_World domination was not part of what they agreed on in the formation of their alliance, the growing of their bond, or when forming Voltron._

\- - -

Her earliest coherent memory must’ve been when she was around one-year-old, looking around the house when her parents looked at her and called her “Catherine”. Eventually deeming that no one else was around, she’d looked at them and asked “Who’s Catherine?” though, as a one-year-old, it had come out more like “who catwin?”

That’s when a line was drawn between her and her family. It’s not like there’s a handbook on how to deal with your child when it seems like they have way more intelligence, awareness and wisdom than they should have at, you know, literally one-year old. Pidge understands that, she really does!

(Also, Catherine is a name that’s like, two thousand years old. Why hasn’t it gone out of style? A shorter form - like Kit or- or Katie or something - would be much better! No one wants to say three syllables when you can do it in one of two.)

The line grows thicker and the distance grows further when she turns four and her skin is painted in black and red and blue and yellow. Her parents are traditional - even though its 2232, seriously? - and having more than one soulmate is definitely a shame by their standards.

So, for the first few years of her life, she feels like an outcast. Then, her entire family decides to move - so obviously she has to change schools too, right?

She changes school and on her first day she’s made some enemies already just for having four soulmarks - seriously? Until, until-

There’s a boy/girl (she can’t really tell - her bullies refer to the other student while alternating between “Keith” and “Skyla” and Pidge really hopes it’s the first for some inane reason) who also has four colours of soulmarks. Supposedly.

“Guess we found another faker to go with the tranny,” one of them comments and Pidge seethes internally and not externally because externally she is week but internally she has the words and the smarts to take any of them down any day-

“Hey Keith!” A bully shouts in her ear, but not at her. She looks up at the dark-haired student in front of her carefully, even as a sense of something just right fills her. This is right. But the student’s hair is decidedly not. It’s too light!

“We found another attention-seeking freak like you!” The bully continues when it grows clear that ‘Keith’ is ignoring him.

‘Keith’ snaps back and oh- the eyes aren’t quite right either, but it’s okay, everything can be fixed. Said eyes widen in recognition.

“What,” the bully taunts, and ouch- Pidge’s wrist hurts thank you very much. “Cat got your tongue?”

It’s not surprising at all to her that ‘Keith’ stalks forwards and punches the guy, but it’s much more of one when the same hand grabs her and they run.

-

“Who are you?” Pidge asks when they finally stop behind a bunch of lockers. “They call you Keith and Skyla and I don’t know which one is right.”

“Keith,” her new friend says. “I’m a boy. No one else believes me.”

“They’re stupid then,” Pidge declares. “My name is Pidge and I think we could be soulmates.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at her. “Soulmates,” he echoes blankly.

“Yes,” Pidge nods sagely. “Take off your jacket so we can compare our marks.”

Keith stares at her. She sighs. “Or don’t. But tell me these,” she gestures at her own arms. “Don’t look familiar.”

Keith looks at them, then shrugs off his jacket. “You’re green.”

“And you’re red,” Pidge observes, comparing their marks. “I’d say to stop getting into so many fights but now I know why…”

Keith flushes red and looks away. “I don’t-“

“It’s okay,” Pidge says. “I get why.”

Keith stares at her like the concept of her understanding is so incredibly out of the ordinary.

“We’ll just have to get out of here as soon as possible!” Pidge finishes with a grin. When Keith grins back, equally hesitantly, she throws her arms around him. He is stiff and awkward in the hug but they make it work.

\- - -

_Marmora runs through the caverns, sweltering within her suit. Valekia is a planet full of mountain ridges that sprout fire and rivers that are filled with fire and ground that gives way to fire- It’s basically a fire planet and if she dies here, it’s going to be because she overheated to death in her suit or something stupid like that and she will never have gotten to meet her kantezante in this life or managed to slow down the Galra Empire’s conquest of the known universe._

_She knocks headfirst into a Valekian as she turns. Her helmet protects her from anything else but it definitely doesn’t protect the Valekian on the ground before her._

_“Ancients, are you alright?” She asks, hurrying over to said Valekian, who stares at her with hazy eyes._

_“Well this life sucks,” they say - and oh wow, ouch her arm hurts - and promptly passes out on her._

_“…Zarkon?” She asks, but no one answers._

_So she hoists her kantezan onto her shoulder and drags his dead weight along with her._

_-_

_She turns a corner and is promptly rammed against the wall by a relatively large Valekian. They stand in front of her, gun raised and shaking._

_Marmora lowers her kantezan to the ground, raises her arms in the universal sign of surrender and backs herself slowly against the wall - not like the surrender really matters because wow the Valekians are brutal but then again the Galra are trying to tear apart their planet to find the Red Lion. “Are you ever going to shoot?”_

_The gun shakes even more. “Please don’t make me do this,” the Valekian says, and Marmora gasps because she feels like the words on her arm have been stabbed. “Let go of him and tell me you’re not with the Galra.”_

_Marmora sighs. “I can’t promise that. Can I take my helmet off?” The Valekian nods and she does as much. “As you can see,” she says. “I was born Galra this life, though I can tell you that I’m definitely not with the Galra Empire, Blaytz.”_

_“I’m not Blaytz,” the Valekian replies with confusion, but lowers the gun in his hand anyway. “I’m Gyrgan.”_

_“Gyrgan,” Marmora echoes. “With so many lives, what should we call each other?”_

_Gyrgan shrugs. “Valekian names are incomprehensible beyond belief for most other races apparently. Example, I’m-“ Then he lets out a series of rumbles and clicks._

_“Yeah, no,” Marmora says. “Why don’t we just go by last life’s names. Those were general enough for five different species to be able to speak.”_

_“Alright then, Trigel,” Gyrgan says and Marmora - no, Trigel - feels a sense of rightness flow through her. “If you’re not with the Galra Empire, what are you doing here?”_

_Trigel gestures around her. “Does it look like I’m with anyone else? No sentries, no other Galra, not even a drone.” She tosses him the helmet and he catches it. “As you can probably tell, the comm in my helmet hasn’t been on since ages ago.”_

_Gyrgan nods, then sets the helmet down beside him. “So?”_

_“I’m trying to find Red before the Empire finds her,” Trigel admits. “Hopefully I’d be able to protect her, or maybe get her to Alfor or vice versa.”_

_“Wonderful,” Gyrgan grins, clapping his hands together. “Now we know what exactly they’re looking for. Let’s go, I’ll show you to the others.”_

_-_

_“Stupid caverns,” Trigel curses to herself after getting split up from her kantezante, running for her life from an extremely brutal Valekian. “Winding and confusing and all round-“ She runs into a dead end._

_“Don’t try to run away from the consequences,” the Valekian calls from behind her and she freezes as her arm replicates the same feeling from when Gyrgan and Zarkon said her words._

_She turns around. “I’m not trying to,” she protests. “You were trying to kill me!”_

_“…Trigel?”_

_“Alfor,” she says, relaxing now that the gun isn’t pointed at her. “Good to see you again.”_

_“You’re…”_

_“Yes,” Trigel nods at the unspoken question. “I’m Galra. I really don’t want to explain it again so can we go to Zarkon and Gyrgan so I can explain it with Gyr to anyone else that needs to listen?”_

_“You’ve met Zarkon and Gyrgan?” Alfor echoes, looking a little lost. “Sure. Okay. I’ll bring you.”_

_-_

_Meeting the other Valekian is a scary scary experience. Mostly because the moment she steps in, at least five guns are trained onto her, only lowering after both Alfor and Gyrgan vouch for her. Apparently they’re heads of their units or something?_

_“I don’t quite trust you,” a Valekian says, arms crossed and in front of her, even as her arms burns again. “I don’t care if any of them claim that you’re Trigel - you haven’t given me a solid reason to trust you yet.”_

_“I don’t expect you to, Blaytz,” she says long-sufferingly._

_-_

_“Are there any other Galra like you?” Someone asks._

_“Few,” she says. “I started a group and we recruit but we’re spread thin and it’s hard to discern where the loyalty of the other Galra lie.”_

_“What’s the group called?”_

_“The Blades,” she says, raising her weapon. “After our luxite weapons. Though my right-hand man always jokes that it should be called the Blade of Marmora. I can only hope it won’t stick.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do end notes work? I can't remember .-.
> 
> Every chapter appears to be somewhere within the range of 1500-2000 so far. I'm not sure how to feel about that. 
> 
> (Also, ancient human history is hard to write because I can't just come up with something and call it lore.)
> 
> Also, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886048) exists an elaboration of last chapter's past life, involving homesickness. I... don't know how I feel about any of my writing now.


	4. but i will carry it along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Altean Colony makes it’s appearance and clocks are ticking. Literally and figuratively and well, tick-ing. No? Anyway, ~~soulmates~~ mirphlings are strange strange occurrences. ~~Lance~~ Taslor (but he strongly prefers Blaytz) does not trust Prince Lotor. No. Not at all. There’s so many things wrong with how he runs the Colony!
> 
> _Alternatively, Lance (he’s not a girl, if his family would please stop calling him a girl please) gets kicked out of his home (oh, I guess he doesn’t really have a family now?) and accidentally finds one of his soulmates._

~~ _Lance_ ~~ _Blaytz wakes up one day, in his fourth life, with a fiery determination and confidence in his chest. It’s not just any other day - nuh, uh. Today is the day all four of his timers count down completely. He can finally meet everyone else again! (Finally be called Blaytz and not Taslor.)_

_He’s also freshly turned fifteen decaphoebs and it’s also the first day of school and from past experiences, he’s decidedly not looking forwards to it._

_“Mother,” he calls. “I’m heading out!”_

_“Stay safe,” she replies, not looking up from where she’s busy wrangling his younger siblings._

_The Altean Colony he lives on in this life is both right and wrong at the same time. It’s so incredibly wonderful to know that some people got away when Altea blew up and it really soothes something lingering from his first life, but there’s also something undeniably eerie about the place. Their leader can masquerade as an Altean undercover as a Galra all he wants, but it’s clear to see the Galra blood running through his veins. He doesn’t like the guy._

_It’s also very strange that the Colony has no outside contact with the rest of the known universe. In his fifteen decaphoebs this life, he’s figured that these Alteans would be able to contribute a lot in the war against not-Zarkon - if they tried to._

_Only the prince and his direct crew go to and fro the Colony and the rest of the universe._

_Blaytz really really doesn’t like the guy._

_The Altean Colony is bright and it genuinely feels just like Altea in it’s prime - he knows that for sure, having lived it and all. Lilari lived a good, if a bit complicated life. In that life, Blaytz remembers distinctly that Nora didn’t like him very much. He doesn’t think they ever resolved it - not in that life or the ones after that. It’s kind of a pity, he thinks. That they’re soulmates but it feels like the other can barely tolerate him on a good day._

_He’s not looking forward to meeting the reincarnation of Nora-Zarkon this life._

_(Sometimes he wonders if he’s actually allowed to call Nora Nora, instead of Phelenora, because anyone who knew her knew that she was very particular over who got to call her what. Like “Nora” meant something special to her and “Phelenora” was just there for people who eventually didn’t matter.)_

_Frankly, he never actually ever looks forward to meeting Nora’s reincarnations. Nothing new there, he guesses!_

\- - -

His name is Lance. His name is B- B-? Nope, that name’s out of reach. His name is most definitely not Malena. He’s known that for years on top of years but he is ten when he finally tells as much to his parents.

He gets kicked out of the house. His twin helps him pack a bag and leaves it out for him to find but doesn’t leave. It’s okay, Lance knows that Macaria feels alright where she is. He’s different - he does not.

From there, he just follows where the wind blows. Figuratively, of course. He’s very bad at telling which direction the wind is blowing without the help of water.

-

It’s an accident - that’s how it happens.

He’d gotten onto a bus and travelled a couple states down in hopes that his extended family would help him out. They did not. He ends up lost in the middle of New York, running low on money and all in all just a wreck. He lives wherever offers the most shelter at the time, never at the same place too often, and gets into fist fights with people larger and older and stronger than him.

(He wins most of the times - like fighting is a muscle memory.)

It’s during one of these fights when this teen - maybe four years older than him? - passes by the alleyway. He doesn’t know what the teen is thinking when the other throws himself into the fray and drags him away.

They run and run and run. The elder gestures for Lance to stop, a couple blocks down. “You okay there kid?”

“‘m not a kid,” Lance complains first. “But thank you. I’m alright.”

The teen stares at him. “…Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” He says, ignoring the pain in his side.

“I’m Shiro.”

“The name’s Lance,” Lance grins, and takes the offered hand. “Nice to meet you!”

They shake hands and simultaneously startle as identical yellow marks form on the back of their hands.

“Really, Yellow?” Lance complains out loud, then busies himself with trying to figure out the type of wound his soulmate got.

“It looks like a cut of some sort,” Shiro observes. “Like they cut themselves while chopping carrots or something.”

“Huh,” Lance says. It really does look that way. “Does that mean Yellow’s left-handed?”

“It appears so.”

“…Hey, does this mean we’re soulmates?”

He has to thank Yellow when he meets them.

-

Shiro looks for him every few days and they chat. A lot. About random stuff. Like how Shiro’s real name isn’t Shiro either. Lance finds the coincidence it very very interesting.

It’s during one of these visits that Shiro finds out that Lance doesn’t actually have anywhere concrete to stay.

“Nope.”

“What?” Lance asks. “If it works, it works.”

“This is not working,” Shiro says. “It barely constitutes as a shelter!”

“I think you and I have very different definitions of shelter.”

“You can crash at mine!” Shiro suggests, eyes maybe a little wild. “My parents won’t mind. They’d love you.”

Lance winces at that, remembering his own parents- “Yeah no, I’m not gonna risk it.”

“What risk?” Shiro’s exasperated now, and it makes Lance feel terrible somewhere deep deep down inside.

“Risk of getting kicked out and never getting to see you again?” Lance shrugs. “Sometimes it feels like you’re the one good thing I have left in my life. I’m not going to risk losing you just yet.”

Shiro gives him a Look. Lance does not like the Look. Mostly because that Look makes him want to hug Shiro and take back everything he ever said that upset the other.

-

(He moves in with Shiro’s family not long after.)

\- - -

_Blaytz darts into the classroom - wide-eyed - and takes a seat. It’s very much different compared to the old Altean classrooms, and definitely a far cry from Naqulod’s lessons (mainly taught while playing games, now that was fun!) but it definitely seems to fulfil it’s purpose._

_“Hello!” Someone says, standing in front of him. “Is this seat taken?”_

_He looks up and their eyes meet. His timer beeps and so does the other’s. They simultaneously look at their respective timers, then back at each other._

_“Nope!” Blaytz grins. “Not at all, Trigel.”_

_-_

_Blaytz shifts nervously as he watches his other clock count down. He has a dobosh or so before his next mirphling shows up. He hopes it’s not Zarkon. Oh, Ancients above - he prays it’s not Zarkon._

_Whichever way, he tries fixing his hair before the dobosh is up. He fails. Badly. Very badly. Looking at his reflection in the pond, he’s pretty sure his hair is even more messed up than before. He tries fixing his clothes. He’s pretty sure he’s buckled his belt wrong but he’s got no time, his mirphling’s gonna show up any tick now-_

_“Are you okay? Do you need help?” A figure in front of him asks._

_Blaytz looks up sheepishly as his countdown reaches zero. “…Nope, not really. See you later Gyr!”_

_He runs away._

_-_

_(“Did you really find the need to impress me with your appearance?” “Shhh! We’ll never speak of this incident again!”)_

_-_

_His other two clocks tick down slowly, in sync. They stop within seconds of each other and so Blaytz wonders if he meets Alfor or Zarkon first._

_He’s learnt from his mistake, so he doesn’t attempt to fix his appearance in any manner whatsoever._

_Blaytz looks around. The area is packed with people, there’s no way he’d be able to find his mirph-_

_“C’mon! I wanna look cool when I meet my last mirphling!”_

_“You’ve already met B three times, what’s so different about this one?”_

_“I have the opportunity to look cool!”_

_There’s a pair fighting over a oneka, and Blaytz just knows that that’s where he needs to be._

_“Hey,” he grins, walking up to them. “Miss me?”_

_-_

_“I don’t trust this,” Blaytz frowns, fixing Trigel’s belt. “This Second Colony stuff? And separating a known set of mirphlings? I don’t trust this, Trigel. Not one bit.”_

_They sigh and tug him into an embrace. “I don’t like this either,” they say, pulling back with a wry grin. “But someone has to keep Alfor out of trouble. It might as well be me.”_

_“Yeah…” Blaytz says weakly, looking away. “I’m sure Gyrgan and Zarkon can look after themselves just fine.” He plasters on a wider grin as he turns back to his mirphling. “Good luck with Alfor!”_

_Trigel hesitates for a while. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” They ask softly._

_“Yeah,” Blaytz says. “Don’t worry about little old me!” He smirks and raises his voice. “You’ll have your hands full with Alfor after all!”_

_“I heard that!” Alfor calls back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oneka - you know Allura’s short distance escape pod thing? That, but on the ground, pretty much the Altean equivalent of a bike
> 
> I'm running out of pre-written chapters. Oops. It's not my fault there are exams or weighted assignments every two weeks or so! (Also I'd thought chapter 7 would be the easiest to write because it's _my_ heritage, right? Nooooo history is hard and I remember why I dropped it.
> 
> Also hi did I mention that I'm really out of my depth why did I think writing a plot-driven thing would be a good idea, my "speciality" is emotional development.


	5. and it’s a long way forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the humanity is strange and very backwards and underdeveloped (long-distance communication devices don’t even exist yet, can you believe it?), two of them fake their genders to get into the army. To be fair, they do have different reasons… ~~Hunk~~ Gratiana helps one of them. She’s kind of obligated to? That’s her sister _and_ soulmate there, and if Iovita’s going to do it anyway, Gratiana might as well help.
> 
> _Alternatively, Hunk (it’s sort of embarrassing that that’s the name that feels most accurate for him) meets a pair of soulmates in school who apparently skipped grades together. Well, he’s one to talk - he might have skipped one or two grades too, but they’re even younger than him!_

~~ _Hunk_ ~~ _Gratiana lives a good life. Her vision may still be stuck in hues of black and white and yellows and greens, but she is happy nonetheless. Her parents are wealthy enough to afford to send her and her sister to a litterator, then a grammaticus, alongside their brothers._

_She does not remember much about colours, but if Iovita claims that she never saw yellow in her life before her eyes met Gratiana’s, then Gratiana is more than willing to take her word for it._

_“Gratiana!” Iovita calls from the entrance._

_“Sister!” Gratiana grins, hurrying to meet her. “How is the milita?”_

_“Well,” Iovita says. “Very well. I have met someone.”_

_“Have you?”_

_“His name is Valerius and hear this,” Iovita’s voice drops lower conspiratorially. “He brought purple into my life.”_

_“No,” Gratiana gasps, appropriately dramatically for Iovita._

_“Yes!”_

_“Tell me more,” she probes her sister. “What’s he like? When can I meet him?”_

_“He’s but a peregrini, but he’s serving in the milita to gain citizenship. A Class II, which is admirable for a foreigner - we serve the same squad, it’s how we met. One more thing, he is waiting for me outside, as we came home together.”_

_“Iovita!” Gratiana frowns. “You couldn’t have sent some warning ahead?”_

_Iovita shrugs shamelessly._

_“Let our guest in,” she sighs. “I’ll get everything set up.”_

_-_

_“Gratiana!”_

_“Yes, Iovita?”_

_“I found the people who bring the rest of the colours into my life!”_

_“That’s nice, could I meet them too?”  
_

_“Of course! The one who brought red and orange is Caesonius. He’s only a Class V, and a liberti along with that to boot, but he’s nice enough, if a bit brash. I fear he may end up throwing his life away a little early with his recklessness. Valerius says that he feels like he’s got something to prove.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yes! Valerius introduced him to me, said that he and I are a lot more similar than first glance.”_

_“That’s… curious.”_

_“Indeed. Anyway, the blues belong to Laelius. He’s a bit of a flirt - even though he still thinks I’m male - so much so that it’s almost scandalous, but Caesonius swears that Laelius is the best friend he’s ever had. He’s a Class V as well but he’s absolutely incredible with a bow and arrow.”_

_“That sounds wonderful! Will you ever tell them that you’re not… exactly male, though?”_

_“…Maybe someday. Later. In the very far future.”_

_“Maybe.”_

\- - -

Hunk thinks that life in general, is very frustratingly unexplainable. That fact grates on the scientific mind inside of him. He can’t not know, he has to know! Everything has to be scientifically explainable, otherwise, it just makes no sense.

Life, in general, is weird, but from what he understands, his must be way weirder.

“Four?” His mother asks. “That many?”

“I mean…” he shrugs. “It appears so? Unless it’s different types of markings or different sources of hurt or just random colouration? But even so, it seems that I do have four soulmates.”

“That’s…”

“Practically unheard of?” Hunk offers. “I know, I did my research.”

His parents stare at him.

“If it’s any consolation,” he says. “I have a gut feeling. I don’t think we’re romantic. Soulmates, that is.”

“Are you sure?” His father asks. “Four platonic soulmates? That’s even rarer than four romantic ones.”

“I’m sure,” Hunk nods, with absolute certainty. Then, less certainly, “Please don’t make me explain it. It just… feels wrong.”

His parents exchange a look, and his father snorts. “What?” He demands. “It’s true!”

“Oh honey…” His mother smiles at him, and he can see the amusement in her gaze and the twitch of her lips. “When you grow up and look back on this conversation, you will find it funny too.”

Hunk really doesn’t think so.

-

He’s ten and kind of fed up with middle school already. Not because he skipped one too many grades, but more because he’s already skipped two grades and it’s not enough. It feels like he’s learnt all of this before, especially the Maths and Sciences part.

He’s incredibly bored in 6th grade, but he’s going to give it a chance. A chance. One.

-

It’s another day, similarly early in the school year, when he finds the outcome of his chance. Two students, most likely younger than he is, one standing protectively in front of the other.

Hunk? Well, he’d normally not step in, but something inside of him is singing, screaming, _yes yes yes, this is good, this is right,_ ** _protect them_**.

“Hey!” Every face turns to him and oh dear- He hates being the center of attention but he already made his grave - might as well sleep in it. “Leave them alone!”

“Oh yeah? And who are you to stop us?”

He tries not to shake. “No one important,” he says, glancing at the duo on the ground and trying to scream with his body language _‘run!’_. “No one important yet.”

They laugh at him, and the two kids creep away in the opposite direction.

“And what are you going to do about us?” They grin and gesture at the empty spot where the two kids used to be, thankfully not looking down.

“Nothing,” he says and turns.

-

The duo finds and corners him not long after.

“Thank you,” the taller kid says.

“I didn’t do anything,” Hunk says.

“You did enough,” the shorter one responds. “I’m Pidge.”

“Keith,” the taller kid says.

“Eljert,” Hunk says.

“Ai-lert?” Pidge echoes, almost confused.

“Something like that,” Hunk shrugs. “Spelled E-L-J then -ert, though.”

“That doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t seem quite right?” Keith offers.

“Yeah! It doesn’t seem quite right. Do you have another preferred name?”

“What?” Hunk asks.

“Preferred name,” Pidge elaborates. “Like how my name is technically Catherine but I prefer to be called Pidge.”

“Technically the teachers have my name down as Skyla,” Keith offers, voice trailing softer with every word, looking down as if in shame.

“I- Don’t laugh?” Hunk asks weakly. “It’s weird and I don’t get where it came from and why it exists but I call myself… Hunk.”

He doesn’t get the laughter he expects, just two twin grins.

\- - -

_As the only (as far as the community is concerned) surviving daughter of her familia, Gratiana marries Valerius._

_“Doesn’t it feel weird, though?” Iovita frowns and asks. “Four soulmates but you’re only marrying one of us?”_

_Gratiana and her new husband exchange looks._

_“It does feel weird, yeah,” Valerius says._

_“I have to agree,” Gratiana nods. “But I feel like it’s less of the whole one out of four thing and more of the idea that we’re not really… meant to be together in this way.”_

_Valerius nods. Iovita tilts her head contemplatively. “Fair enough! It does feel far more right with you as my sister and the others as my brothers-in-arms. I don’t think I could ever just marry one of you, no offence, Val.”_

_“None taken,” he says, taking it in stride._

_-_

_“I’m,” Casenoius says, looking at the ground in what Gratiana can only describe as nervousness, words coming out in a rush. “My name’s not Caesonius. I’m Caesonia and I’m not a man. I’m a woman.”_

_“Yeah!” Laelius cuts in, physically and verbally, standing defensively in front of his friend. “And if any of you have a problem with that, I’ll… uh. I’ll shoot you!” He gestures to the bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to his back._

_Gratius turns to Iovita, who looks shocked out of her mind, and Valerius, who just looks amused._

_“You knew!” Iovita accuses, turning to Valerius. “You said we were a lot more similar than at first glance!”_

_“Guilty as charged,” Valerius grins._

_“You’re…?” Casenoiu- Casenoia starts to ask, looking lost, then trails off._

_“I’m still Iovita,” she says. “But I’m most definitely not a male. I just didn’t want to stay at home and be a good wife to whoever. No offence, Tia.”_

_“None taken,” Gratiana shrugs off easily. “I encouraged her to join the milita. And I made the right choice - she always did look happier after coming home from it.”_

_“So…” Laelius asks. “Is anyone else hiding their gender or any other secrets like that?”_

_“Oh!” Iovita perks up. “I’m actually older than Tia! Not the other way around.”_

_-_

_“Do you have to?” Gratiana asks._

_Laelius stops, staring into space. “There’s something out there calling for me, Gratiana. It calls my name. If I find it, then I’ve achieved what I needed to. If I don’t…” He shrugs and turns around, smiling softly at her. “I can only hope Elysium will let me in.”_

_“Laelius…”_

_“Could you…” Laelius visibly struggles. “Tell the others for me? I don’t think I’d be allowed to do this if I told it to them myself.”_

_“Then don’t!”_

_“I have to!” He is desperate. Gratiana doesn’t understand. It doesn’t make any sense. “I hate that I have to,” he repeats, weakly._

_Gratiana watches her soulmate for just a little while more. “Take Casenoia with you.”_

_“What?”_

_“Take Casenoia with you,” she says again. “Everyone knows that you she is most closely bonded to you, just as you are to her. Let her join you.”_

_“But-“_

_“That is my only condition,” Gratiana declares, resolute in her decision._

_“I-“ Laelius shakes his head. “Fine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a historian, I have no clue how Ancient Rome actually worked, this is just what I managed to piece together based on a dive into Wikipedia pages.
> 
> Also, yes! The first... arc, I suppose, is done now! 
> 
> On an unrelated note, I've just realised that my Literature assignment (due today) is basically a fanfiction of a literary work. Hunk's given name in his newest life is that of one of the characters - Eljert Lövborg - because I was tired and fed up with Hedda Gabler when I wrote this.
> 
> **(21/7/20: So. I know my next update is due in 2 days. But I just thought I'd mention that yeah, I know this fic is canon divergent, sort of, I suppose, and with AU-elements. But I wrote this when I'd just finished season 3. Today, I have 2 episodes of season 8 left and it seems this is. Completely AU now. Not that it could've been canon-verse to begin with, with reincarnation and soulmates... But now even the second life is AU and I tried to keep it vague. Yay. I'm just. Gonna continue writing this. While ignoring any information dropped in S8.)**


	6. so trust in me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Lance doubt their places with each other and proceed with an extremely awkward relationship - what are they even doing anymore? Stress is attempted and failed to be played for like, a hundred words and they are disasters. 
> 
> _Alternatively, the Galra Empire is weird and the Blade (of Marmora, and Tigrel hates it) is secretive. The Yellow Lion is lost and found and this section is 50% filler. ~~Shiro~~ ~~Sazal~~ Zarkon (wow, names are confusing) just wants a break._

_The first thing_ ~~ _Shiro_ ~~ _Sazal/Zarkon does when he finally can, is to join the Blade (of Marmora, oh Ancients, Trigel would hate this!)._

_Or, well, at least try to? Apparently, the Blade underwent some serious secrecy measures some time back, it seems._

_“The Trials of Marmora,” he says in complete disbelief. “The Trials of Marmora.”_

_“Yes,” Trigel, whose name is Cronzin in this life and that name is written on his wrist alongside three others, frowns. “They came up with a Trial and added my name behind it. If I could go back in time, I’d throttle Trysker for that stupid joke that definitely went way too far.”_

_“Technically he didn’t come up with the Trial,” Zarkon feels obligated to point out. “He’s not exactly at fault for this.”_

_“He started it.”_

_(Zarkon was absolutely right, Trigel absolutely hates this.)_

_-_

_“Our last lives?” Gyrgan asks, frowning in confusion. “Why would you find the need to talk about it?”_

_“Well,” Zarkon says, long-sufferingly. “To begin with, their form of entertainment, so similar to that of the Empire’s?”_

_“That was admittedly disturbing,” Gyrgan concedes. “But maybe it’s a cultural thing? It seems to be a cultural thing.”_

_“Oh, are we talking about the planet from last life?” Blaytz pops in. “I’m fairly certain that’s where Blue and I crash landed all those years back.”_

_“What was that planet like?” Trigel asks, following right behind, Alfor at her side. “Why weren’t you able to contact us?”_

_“Oh, Blue and I crashed and promptly got caught up in the ground splitting, then a rock started shooting out red-hot melted rock.”_

_Zarkon stares. He’s sure that the others are too._

_“It’s a death planet,” Blaytz summarises. “Blue wasn’t conscious long enough for me to send out an untraceable transmission.”_

_“You crashed landed Blue on a death planet?”_

_Blaytz pouts. “It’s not like the inhabitants aren’t scary! They took known predators and kinda adopted them. You’re the one who adopted several of those wolves, Zarkon!”_

_“And their religion,” Alfor throws in. “There were so many gods and goddesses to keep up with, and no proof that they actually existed, not like Oriande and the White Lion!”_

_“All those braids that the females had to wear for show of social status?” Trigel shudders. “Horrifying. I’m glad I decided to pose as a male.”_

_“Their gender identities were very…” Zarkon struggles a bit to find a suitable non-offensive word. “Close-minded.”_

_“The Valekians pretty much ate fire for sustenance, but these… humans are omnivores,” Gyrgan realises, prompting all five of them to exchange horrified looks. The number of dominant species that consume meat can be counted easily - and none of them bear very pleasant reputations._

_“Shall we put out a recommendation for others to avoid that planet?” Zarkon suggests._

_“We would,” Trigel says, frowning. “If we knew where it was.”_

_They all exchange looks again._

_“Well,” Blaytz forces a grin. “Let’s just hope that the first interplanetary contact is someone important from the Empire, so all the hard work is done before us!”_

_-_

_When the leader of the Blade at the time tells them that the Yellow Lion has been located, their little group of five promptly exchange looks. If the Blade has located it, it probably won’t be long for the Empire to catch up. The Blade needs to act fast, just as much as they need to get Gyrgan to Yellow._

_None of them are picked for the mission._

_-_

_“We need to get to Yellow,” Alfor declares as soon as they’re alone._

_“Or,” Trigel offers slowly. “We could just… trust the rest of the Blade to do its job?”_

_“We died before we could see for ourselves how the Blade works, Tri. We don’t exactly… trust them,” Gyrgan says diplomatically. “Also, it’s Yellow. If it were Green, would you let them go get her without you?”_

_“Face it,” Blaytz cuts in before Trigel can answer. “We don’t exactly have the resources to get to Yellow on our own. It’ll be a suicide mission and we might mess up the rest of the Blade’s process.”_

_“Zarkon?” Alfor asks, and everyone turns to him._

_“If,” he says, thinking slowly. “We can find a speedy enough ship stocked with supplies and guarantee that the chances of us messing up the Blade’s procedure, then yes. We’re going. Only if that happens.”_

_Alfor grins at him. Blaytz glares._

_-_

_“This is a bad idea,” Blaytz says, steadying his gun. “This is a terrible idea.”_

_“We have to try!” Alfor protests. “We can’t just leave Yellow to the Empire!”_

_“It’s a suicide mission!”_

_Alfor grunts, as Zarkon teams up with him to clear a path for the others (mainly Gyrgan). “Shut up and just watch our six for us!”_

_“Copy that,” Blaytz growls._

_-_

_They don’t make it to Yellow. Or rather, they do, but Gyrgan does not._

_They spend the last minutes of their lives in a valiant attempt to ward off the Empire._

\- - -

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll ever meet the others?” Lance asks him one day, a year after moving in with him. Shiro’s parents had been delighted, welcoming their new family member with open arms.

“When,” Shiro corrects absentmindedly. He doesn’t pretend to know what prompted Lance’s question, but he strongly suspects it has something to do with their matching bright yellow bruises. He’s pretty sure Yellow has a black eye now. “When we’ll meet the others. Because we will. It’s just a matter of when.”

“Sure,” Lance answers, but Shiro can hear the scepticism tainting his tone.

“It’s going to happen soon,” Shiro feels obligated to add, turning to look at lance. “They’re looking for us too.”

“There’s no guarantee that we’ll meet.”

“We will,” he promises. “I swear we will.”

“You can’t guarantee that,” Lance says and Shiro hates the look on his soulmate’s face, because that sort of vulnerability doesn’t suit Lance. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Good thing I fully intend on keeping it,” he refutes, no longer resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his soulmate’s much thinner and lankier frame.

Lance makes a fully disbelieving whine. Shiro hugs him tighter.

(He can’t hug all the negative feelings away, but he sure can try.)

-

Sometimes, he and Lance are extremely awkward around each other - like they don’t quite know how to interact. It makes absolutely zero sense because they are soulmates, and they hit off right away, so why do situations like this happen?

“Hey,” Shiro says, tone packed full with false chill and leaning against the doorframe in what he hopes looks relaxed but probably looks like he’s going to attack any moment.

“…Hey,” Lance replies similarly, fingers clenching tighter around the cheesy water motif coffee mug with the words ‘Go With The Flow’ on one side and ‘High Tides Good Vibes’ on the other; the coffee mug that definitely constitutes as Lance’s. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Shiro answers, even though every bone in his body is just screaming to try to do something else, anything else, to diffuse the tension. “How about you?”

“Good, good,” Lance’s eyes dart around the room. “I’m just gonna- you know- go to my room…?”

“Cool, cool, cool, cool,” Shiro says, feeling very out of place even as he says the words. Lance takes the opportunity to escape the kitchen and its extremely tense atmosphere. “No doubt,” he continues to the empty area, more to himself than anything.

Shiro has the strangest feeling that that would have been considered ‘doing well’ with Lance, which is absolutely ridiculous since they’d already established a rapport.

They just… need to fix whatever tensions have been brewing between them!

-

So… Apparently, fixing the tension is a lot easier than it sounds, especially since neither of them have any idea where it originates from.

“I can’t explain it,” Lance rushes, in an attempt to respond and explain himself away as quickly as possible. Shiro doesn’t disagree, he just wishes he could’ve spoken first. “It’s just that sometimes when I look at you, the thing in me that insisted that I should be Lance and not Malena insisted that you’re my leader and that I should give you every bit of respect, but my logical mind just tells me that that’s dumb and that I should react as per normal and it just results in two very conflicted sides and I just don’t-“

“Breathe,” Shiro says, putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder, brushing a red mark from Red on Lance’s neck. “And I get it. Sometimes it feels like there’s a chasm between us that I don’t quite know how to cross.”

“Right,” Lance says, and takes a deep breath, in and out. “Right. Right. …How do we fix this? Because, I don’t know about you but I hate that awkward tension with a passion.”

“…” Shiro feels… Well, he doesn’t quite know how he feels. Something to do with not knowing what to say, and he’s pretty sure it shows on his face, if Lance’s expression is anything to go by. “We’ll… work on it.”

“Before we meet the rest of our soulmates?”

“Before,” Shiro nods. “Definitely before.”

-

Shiro observes his cards - two 1s, a 6, an 8 and two 9s. Then he looks at the centre cards - still being held face down.

“Are you ready yet?” Lance asks, sounding bored. “Or are you going to continue to attempt to develop x-ray vision?”

“I’m ready,” Shiro nods. They stare at each other for a count of three, two, one, flip!

A skip and a 3 stare back at them.

“We can’t play stress with power cards, Lance!”

“I thought you removed the power cards!”

“But I thought _you_ removed them!”

They absolutely are not on the same page.

(They also definitely do not manage to sort out their awkwardness before meeting the rest of their soulmates.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the summary order changed! So have the divisions of a chapter! Priorities have shifted. Yay! I wrote this chapter 3 weeks ago. 
> 
> Also, this is most definitely a filler chapter. Hands down, no questions - and chapter 9 does not like me. Yes, get inspiration for chapter 7 and write that and chapter 8 in a day, but get stuck on chapter 9 for a whole week. Naturally. Oh, and don't forget writing an outtake from a still-unwritten chapter 15. _Outtake._ **Chapter 15.**
> 
> I've actually just finished the whole show 15 minutes ago. It is... Slightly unsatisfying but it's okay! I'm not touching on that here, not really!


	7. i’ll give them shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s gut instincts are going wild - something bad is coming and he knows that his soulmates can feel it too, so why aren’t they trying to find their other two soulmates before the disaster occurs? The most worrying thing would be how Keith, as a ten year old, got his hands on all these stuff. (He’s always been considered somewhat a genius, all three of them have, actually.) Also, he’s a conspiracy theorist and neither Pidge nor Hunk know what to do with him.
> 
> _Alternatively, in Ancient China, ~~Keith~~ Jin Lan lives on a mountain, hates his name, and is ambitious without putting in the work. His soulmates don’t know what to do with him._

~~ _Keith_ ~~ _Jin Lan, unlike what the last character of his name suggests, does not like mountains, mist, or mountain mist. Any combination of those feel wrong - he hates feeling so high but still remaining grounded, hates the cold and moisture of the morning mist, hates the even colder mountain mist - but, ironically, he lives on a mountain._

_He is twenty - finally of age - when he receives four red strings, each tied to a different finger on his right hand. Three of them lead in one direction, tugging in the direction of the rest of the empire. The last one moves as he does, so much so that it must be someone pretty relatively nearby. Either that or they travel around a lot. Either or._

_He tells his family that he has only one string. They congratulate him and tell him to find her._

_The thing is, Jin Lan is twenty and he doesn’t want to live the rest of his life on a mountain-top (where it’s oh so cold and he feels oh so out of place)._

_He heads East, to the Capital, to take one of the Imperial Examinations. If he’s really lucky and catches someone’s attention, who knows? Maybe he’ll be invited to take the jinshi._

_(Maybe he’ll get to that higher standing in life he always wanted to reach (was always born to reach).)_

_-_

_The Capital is a busy busy place and Jin Lan doesn’t really mind that. It’s crowded, so much so that he can easily just slip into the crowd and disappear. He wants to be known, wants his name somewhere out there, wants to be recognised, needs to be recognised, but- But. But there is something in him that just wants the solitude of the mountain, no, not the mountain. Solitude. Something in him that wants safety and solitude._

_Jin Lan looks at his fingers - at the four strings, all comparatively tauter than when on the mountain top. Maybe not in complete solitude._

_-_

_Yi Rong is a strange person, Jin Lan thinks. Granted, most other scholars are pretty strange._

_“You’re the strange one,” Yi Rong counters. “We all want recognition and we’re all willing to work for it. You just…”_

_“Just…?” Jin Lan echoes, eyebrow raised. “I just don’t see the point in spending all your time reading stuff about things you aren’t even interested in.”_

_“But you’re taking an Examination for it!” Yi Rong exclaims. “What’s the point of taking an Examination if you’re just going to fail it due to lack of studying?”_

_“I trust in my abilities,” he says simply. “Maybe you should trust in your own too.”_

_“I’d like the guarantee,” Yi Rong says, turning back to his scrolls._

_Yi Rong is a strange person, yes, Jin Lan admits. But he’s Jin Lan’s soulmate, so what else needs to be said about it?_

_-_

_Rui Ning is also a strange person, Jin Lan thinks. His other soulmate does not seek validation from the Examinations, nor does he seek validation from anyone else. He travels at will, simply because he wishes to. Rui Ning doesn’t seek satisfaction from any other material thing - all he wants are the experiences._

_“All that I need is all that I already have, and anything else that I would like can be gained through experience,” he says, looking at Jin Lan in what appears to be confusion. “Why should I actively seek anything else?”_

_“But wouldn’t recognition be nice?” Jin Lan asks, eyebrows furrowed._

_Rui Ning laughs weakly. “Recognition? And have everyone’s attention on me? No thanks.”_

_He really doesn’t understand his soulmates. But that’s okay!_

_That’s okay._

\- - -

“We can’t just leave them!” Keith protests.

“We’re not leaving them,” Pidge explains, patience decidedly not in her tone. “We’re biding our time. Besides, Blue’s in a better place now - there is no rush.”

It’s true, Keith has to admit. Blue doesn’t seem to be getting into as many fights. They have less injuries, and what injuries they do have are healing well. As for Black, well. Black has always been the most calm of all of them. Minimal injuries, minimal pain from the minimal injuries… If there’s any time to wait, now is perfect for it.

It _should_ be perfect for it.

A sense of danger and fear looms over him. He can feel it, a rising torrent of flames in his mind, something calling him, telling him to find, to search. He needs to do something - Keith knows he has never been very good at lying in wait.

“We need to do something!” He insists. “Something’s coming, something bad. We need to find them before it happens. It’s-“ He hesitates, uncomfortable under Hunk and Pidge’s watchful gazes. The simple English language can’t encompass what he wants to get across. “Important,” he settles on. “Very important,” he adds quickly, hand clenched over his chest. “I can feel it, deep down here.” He can’t get this wrong - he’ll sound insane with everything else. “Can’t you?”

“…The Garrison’s defences will hold up,” Pidge says, looking away after a moment of silence. “Altean technology has advanced our own incredibly. We have the Princess and the Advisor to thank for that. And the Paladins of Voltron. The… dead Paladins of Voltron.”

“…Keith didn’t say anything about the Garrison,” Hunk says, quietly, finally speaking up. Keith snaps his gaze to him. Pidge tenses. “You can feel it too. Something big, bad, and intergalactic heading our way.”

They sit in silence for a while.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pidge insists. “We’re just a bunch of kids between the ages of nine to eleven, what can we do?”

“Actually…” Keith starts, slowly.

-

Not much is known about the Paladins of Voltron, especially not the ones that the Princess and the Advisor spoke of in their first broadcast to Earth, declaring peace and forming an alliance. Earth today stands proudly as a member of the growing Voltron Coalition.

This is what the public knows about the Paladins.

One, the latest Paladins were platonic soulmates.

Two, the first Paladins were platonic soulmates too.

Three, any future Paladins will be a set of five platonic soulmates, just like their predecessors.

The first three points pretty much all fall back to the same important concept: soulmates.

Four, the latest Paladins defeated Emperor Zarkon. Permanently. At the cost of the lives of two of their Paladins - the Black and the Blue. The other three Paladins - Red, Yellow and Green - fell at the hands of the new Emperor, Emperor Lotor.

Five, the first Paladins’ first Black Paladin was Emperor Zarkon, before his quintessence was corrupted by something that could not be translated from Altean to English accurately.

Six, the Paladins have to emulate certain values, each unique to the Lion they pilot.

Seven, the Lions are really picky, so it might be a while before they pick new Paladins and Voltron comes back.

Eight, the latest Paladins were humans (with the exception of the Red Paladin, who was part-human, part-Galra), all associated with the Garrison.

Nine, to this day, the Alteans have yet to find and contact the previous Paladins’ families, and the Garrison is not willing to help in this aspect.

Ten, the Garrison erased all information about them online. The latest Paladins no longer have any accessible online presence, nothing doxable. 

…At least, not on any normal platforms.

“…Keith, where did you get all of this?” Pidge asks, carefully, but in awe, looking at the cork board covered in papers (admittedly vintage to allow for minimal tracking) and red string.

“A bunch of places,” he admits. “These ones at least, were from paper library archives,” he says, pointing to the printed copies of news articles about the infamous Kerberos Mission and Takashi Shirogane’s failure, a crash leaving Matthew Holt and Samuel Holt dead alongside him.

“And these were from the Dark Web.” Another series of printed articles, this time about a meteor crash, dated a year after the Kerberos Mission’s failure. A meteor crash that resulted in the deaths of three cadets - a Pidge Gunderson, a Hunk Garret and a Lance McClain - when they were out of their dorms during an alarm. An ex-cadet, discipline case and criminal - Keith Kogane - who broke into the meteor site, injured several government workers and stole highly-classified government property.

“Don’t you guys find this kinda creepy?” Hunk asks, looking closer at the articles Keith just gestured at. “There’s three people mentioned here, with our chosen names. Mentioned together.”

“The Garrison doesn’t like blemishes on their record,” Keith says simply, not quite answering the question as he shuffles through another stack of stuff in an attempt to find something.

“This…” Keith turns around to catch Pidge running her fingers over two pictures - two of the crew members of the Kerberos Mission. She turns to him. “Do you have any other information about this two?”

“Getting there,” he answers, pulling out a orange-glowing rectangle.

“Very alien,” Hunk comments.

“Thanks,” he says, showing them the rectangular device. “Quick question, have any of you used pure Altean technology?”

He gets negative responses and grins. “You’re in for a treat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _cue vigorous chanting: plot plot plot plot_
> 
> Once again, like Chapter 5, the history part is very likely not historically accurate, not even the names. I don’t know how names worked in the Tang Dynasty! (I don’t even know how names work in China, if there are any special ways of choosing them, only really the fusion names from where I’m from. (Fun fact: my Chinese name reflects my parents’ wish for me to show them gratitude, roughly translating to “this child has gratitude”.)) 
> 
> Names (in simplified Chinese so you can search up their meanings if you want to): 陈金岚 (Chen Jin Lan, Keith), 平怡荣 (Ping Yi Rong, Pidge), 黄瑞宁 (Huang Rui Ning, Hunk)
> 
> (Skipping the next two weeks of updates, because I've exams and assignments to prepare for and complete, respectively. See you on like, 20 August?)


	8. like you've done for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Press X to doubt. Pidge doesn’t know what the heck Keith is doing and this conspiracy thing that appears to be not just a conspiracy but an actual government cover-up might be kind of freaking her out. It makes sense though. Also, who is Matthew Holt and why does she prefer to call him Matt, like an affectionate nickname but only for someone she has never met? (One more thing, Altean technology is weird.)
> 
> _Alternatively, the author ran out of ideas for reincarnations and put them back in the Blade. It’s super short and ~~Pidge~~ Trigel relocates Green to another planet. (What sort of name is Rariekir anyway?)_

~~ _Pidge_ ~~ _Trigel has sentiments about the Blade. Many sentiments._

_On one hand, she remembers founding them - gathering together the Galran forces that defected from the Empire, and those that disagreed with the Empire but stood by it for relative safety. On the other hand…_

_She’s really pissed at Trysker and the leaders of the Blade that came up with the stupid stupid Trials. Why is everything named after Marmora? The Blade of Marmora (which started as a joke, if you can believe it), the Trials of Marmora (which are stupid, by the way, if that wasn’t emphasised enough), Home Base Marmora (the original Blade base)…_

_Needless to say, she despises lives where she’s a Galra - in the Blade or defector to the Blade. It’s always so messy and uncomfortable and she can never say it because she’ll be high on the suspicion list._

_Reincarnates are watched so closely nowadays. (Everyone knows not to mention it if you are one.)_

_-_

_In line with the whole “if the Empire finds out I’m a reincarnate, I might be pretty restricted and dead” thing, she leaves her preferred name to only her kantezante. Which leaves her given name in this life…_

_“What sort of name is Rariekir anyway?” She complains._

_“Your name,” Alfor deadpans. “Deal with it.”_

_-_

_Clearly, the Lions want something from them since they keep reincarnating the ex-Paladins in lives that end up guiding them to at least one of the Lions._

_“Other than the Altean Colony,” Alfor disagrees, swerving his steering wheel. “Though that could’ve been just to show us that there still are Alteans around. For a moral boost.”_

_“You forget the two lives on that death planet,” Gyrgan points out, clinging desperately to Alfors chair so he won’t go flying within the cockpit. “Yes, we know a certain someone crash landed Blue there, but where? Those two places on that one planet were… very different from each other. Where is Blue?”_

_“Better question,” Trigel gripes, offering quick glances at the respectively black - which is as sullen and serious as always - and blue - which offers a cheerful bounce, almost like it knows that she’s looking at it - marks on her skin. “Where are Zarkon and Blaytz in this life?”_

_“Just shut up and let me fly us to safety,” Alfor snaps, executing a barrel roll. “We’re in a fighter meant for one person in the middle of an active battle zone and if you want to get Green before the Empire, we’re gonna have to keep you alive till then!”_

_“When you put it like that,” Gyrgan shrieks, as the fighter craft that they’re in takes a nosedive. “Just shut up and fly!”_

_-_

_Trigel huffs, darting into the cockpit just before a laser can hit her. She grabs on Green’s handles, smiling softly as the control panel lights up under her touch. “Long time no see, girl.”_

_Green purrs in her mind._

_“Come on,” she says, pulling the handles, ignoring the faded red and yellow marks on her - lacking their previous life. “Let’s get you out of here before you’re captured.”_

\- - -

The piece of what must be pure Altean technology - where the heck did Keith get his hands on them? - lights up under Hunk’s hands.

“As you can see,” Pidge’s other soulmate - one of four in total, and one of two that she knows! She can’t get used to that, still isn’t used to that after two years - gestures, a wide grin on his face. “It’s unique. And! It doesn’t quite react like this to everyone!”

“How did you know it would react to us?” Hunk asks, passing the tech to her hands. It remains alight.

“I didn’t,” Keith says, sending a confused look their way. They send deadpan looks back, demanding explanation. “I… had a gut feeling? Anyway, Pidge, for Matthew Holt and Samuel Holt, you’ll want to look in the folder titled ‘Kerberos Mission’.”

“Hey,” Hunk says, peering over her shoulder. “Doesn’t that other Pidge look an awful lot like Matthew?”

Pidge hesitates, observing carefully - and hey, Hunk is right! - then promptly takes quick pictures of the papers using her phone, uploading them to her personal laptop.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks.

“Running a facial recognition system,” she answers, focused. “Here, they’re not quite the same. Close enough, yes, but not quite. The other Pidge has similar, but more… feminine features… than Matt…”

“Matt? Why are you calling him Matt? That’s low-key creepy,” Hunk says, but Pidge isn’t listening anymore. She turns back to the Altean tech and it’s folder about the Kerberos Mission, but she hesitates. Then she heads to the user-personal folders - finding a load of information.

“Woah, what’s this?” Keith asks.

“Personal folders.”

“Huh,” he says. “I thought they were mostly a bunch of people fighting and some notes on, well, fighting. And what appears to be Altean magic theory.”

“You must have activated different personal folders,” Hunk says. “I wonder what I’ll find if I activate it.”

“The bigger question would be whose folders we’re activating and how we’re activating them,” Pidge says, finally finding what her gut feeling told her to. “That’s a question for later though, look. This is a footage I found, with someone whose face matches Matt’s more. It’s an escape from a Galran prison.”

“Freedom fighters?”

“Just call them rebels,” Keith deadpans.

“Close enough!” Hunk protests. “So that means that the Kerberos Mission didn’t really crash, right? Especially if Matthew Holt is out there.”

“And-“ Pidge continues, steamrolling over Hunk and turning back to her own tech. “Look, Pidge Gunderson has more feminine features than Matt, right? Well, Matt had a younger sister… by the name of Katie Holt, who went missing slightly after the declaration of the Kerberos Mission’s failure. A missing person report was filed and she’s been accepted to be dead. Now if we run some facial recognition scans…”

The three of them wait in silence for a second, then the laptop lets out a bleep.

“There! Aside from the hair, their facial features match up.”

“What, so Katie Holt ran away and joined the Garrison under a different name and gender, despite looking almost identical to Matthew Holt?”

“Well,” Pidge hesitates, averting her gaze from Hunk’s as a sense of embarrassment - where did _that_ come from? - washing over her suddenly. “Yes.”

“Anyway,” Keith cuts in, taking the Altean interface from her hands. “I found one of this in the personal folder I activated. Look at this.”

It’s five aliens - a Galra, an Altean, someone that looks somewhat like an Olkari, a humanoid version of one of those original Pokémon (a Mantyke), and a large bear with hair - all in what must be the armour of the Paladins of Voltron.

“Are these…?” Pidge asks, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Keith says. “These were the first Paladins of Voltron. Black Paladin Zarkon, Red Paladin Alfor, Green Paladin Trigel, Blue Paladin Blaytz and Yellow Paladin Gyrgan. Now, look at these.”

“Five humans?” Hunk asks.

Five humans, wearing the same armour as the picture before - the armour of the Paladins of Voltron.

“Not just five humans. They’re the second and most recent set of Paladins,” Keith explains. “Look at them. Then look at that,” a quick gesture at the board with it’s news articles and red string.

“No way,” Pidge says, because really! Wow!

“Yes way,” Keith says, smugly.

“You uncovered a government cover-up!”

“Yeah, that’s cool and all,” Hunk cuts in. “But remember what I said about namesakes? Because. Those are our namesakes. And. It’s not like Pidge and Hunk are very common names.”

“Coincidence,” Pidge says, even with something inside of her, yelling, screaming - creeping vines of doubt that have already taken root starting to dig even deeper - that the probability of it simply being coincidence is low.

“Right,” Hunk says, dubious. “Coincidence. I’m not a conspiracy theorist like you two, but there’s no way this is just a coincidence-”

“It’s not coincidence!” Keith protests. “And I’m not a conspiracy theorist!”

“Red string, cork board, paper trail instead of digital footprint, we’re doing this in the middle of a basement so we aren’t seen conspiring together…” Hunk lists. “I think that’s the conspiracy theorist set, government conspiracy edition.”

“Excuse me-“

“Look,” Pidge says, snappish. She hates being doubted - hates doubting herself. Also, her soulmates are getting very off-track. “Fine, let’s say this isn’t coincidence. What can we do about it?”

“The Alteans visit Earth once a - decaphoeb, was it? - on the anniversary of Zarkon’s death. I ran some calculations because decaphoebs differ from years and the next visit is in… give me a second,” Keith says, shifting through a stack of papers and finding one. He’s obviously been planning this for quite a while. Pidge is not sure whether she should be amused or exasperated. “Two months and five days!”

“Can I emphasise the point where we’re nine to eleven year olds?” Hunk says. “There’s no way we’ll be invited into the Garrison to talk to them.”

Pidge hesitates, an idea coming to mind. She doesn’t like the idea of being wrong, so she’s going to do everything she can to prove herself right, even if it means playing along for now. “Well…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very important (to me) note: THE TREES. I cannot sufficiently describe it in words. (Also imagine/search all these set in the evening/night.) So, think Singapore’s Gardens by the Bay’s Supertrees right, BUT. But. With the fibre optic netting of the trees on Roppongi Hills, Tokyo. Yes, it is (was) 12am and I am (was) fusing aspects of the trees of two places that I’ve seen on one occasion each. Fight me, I think it looks good.


	9. and i know i’m not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At some Garrison event that they’re invited to via Shiro’s parents, Lance drags Shiro to meet their soulmates and are instead dragged into a conspiracy theory. Also, Pidge is still in denial and Advisor Coran is there, willing to provide information- Wait nope, there are conditions, which are actually pretty simple to achieve, and- Sorry, did they hear right? They’re going to talk to the Princess?
> 
> _Alternatively, the team fail at finding the Blue Lion. Again. This is why Voltron took so long to reform. ~~Lance~~ Leone is at fault this time, kind of, but she can’t be blamed for wanting to enjoy life! Also, elemental imagery._

_When_ ~~ _Lance_ ~~ _Leone is nine, she runs out of her parent’s house on the beach, away from the stifling dresses and corsets and lessons and etiquette and postures and-_

_The ocean glistens before her, waves lapping at her feet. Something in her heart sings as she runs through the backwash, as the water rushes over her feet and soaks through her layers of skirts, as she lets it wash away the feeling of the sand beneath her bare feet. That is when it all starts - that’s when she knows that she’s meant for something more than the things her parents are making her learn._

_She goes back to her parent’s house, skirts soaked through, hair a mess, her parents chiding her, fearing for a scandal but she- She has never felt so comfortable in her own skin before all of this._

_-_

_The day she turns eighteen, she wakes up in the morning with vibrant splashes of colour all over her, shades of each colour textured like the foam of the oceans. She spins and twists around in the mirror for hours, admiring at the yellow print across her pack. The red prints on her knuckles are much easier to look at, though the black handprint on her arm is at a slightly awkward angle. Then there’s that green print right up the front of her leg._

_It’s gorgeous._

_Eagerly, she shows her parents the prints. They make her cover them up - gloves, long sleeves, even longer dresses with high necklines and none of the freedom she’s craved for, the freedom that comes with the waves - because that many soulmarks? That many soulmates? That many touches? How very scandalous! There’s to be no such scandal in the family, none at all!_

_The next day, she packs a bag and leaves for the oceans._

_-_

_Naturally, she finds a pirate crew and joins it._

_She’s not the first - in fact, she’s the first to join the crew in a long time, and the last for even longer. There are the twins - Apollo and Artemius - and Captain Tullia - where a female captain is near unheard of - and Catriona - who sticks to herself and wears knives on her, even with two swords at her hips._

_  
They’re a group, an unconventional one at that. The other four are non-romantic soulmates looking for their fifth and Leone’s family would be absolutely scandalised if they heard about the mess she got herself into._

_She hopes she’s their fifth, staring longingly at their coloured prints, the markings painted on their bodies. None of them have the texture of ocean foams like she does - Apollo’s are the texture of the soil when it’s perfect for growing plants, Artemius has the intricate texture of leaf veins on her marks, Catriona’s flame textures make it seem like there actually are flames creeping along her body, and Tullia pretty much has stars painted on her - but it all seems so right._

_-_

_It’s all right._

_The yellow prints are from Apollo, when he swings his arm over her’s in a one-armed side hug, then proceeds to lift her in a spin that makes her want to dance, despite how boring she found the lessons back at home._

_Artemius grins at her as he trips her, lighting up the green on her leg and the blue on his, just before she lunges and grapples her newfound soulmate and the two have a tickle fight on the deck of their ship._

_Captain Tullia’s gentle handprint on her arm - as she tells her, “They’re not worth the fight,” and Leone lowers her rifle to let the ships escape back to safety - pretty much gives her butterflies at the moment._

_Catriona brushing her knuckles against Leone’s, both of them seeking comfort in the other, fleeting in the moment but rooted deep within them, hesitant at first before they’re cradling each other on a hammock as they watch the waves and the stars together._

_Leone ignores the call of the ocean (irrational, she’s already at sea, what more could she want?) in her chest and she lives. Lives for and with her soulmates. Lives._

\- - -

“No way,” Lance gasps.

“Yes way,” Shiro says smugly.

“You’re kidding,” Lance insists. “There’s no way we got invites to the Altean’s visit! They’re like, suuuper important, and have way better things to do than talk to some kids.”

“This says otherwise.”

“How?”

And Shiro - how dare he?! - simply puts a finger to his lips and winks. Winks! The- the nerve! And impudence! Yet, no matter how much Lance pouts and begs, Shiro refuses to reveal his methods. Straight up refuses, the nerve of him!

(Turns out, Shiro’s parents are higher-ups in the Garrison. That explains so much about everything Lance has experienced with them.)

-

“This is so cool,” Lance whispers to his soulmate, both dressed in formal clothing.

The tree above the table they’re seated at is in full bloom, courtesy of quintessence stuff - not that Lance knows how to explain it - and strings of fairy lights hanging from the branches. Some other trees around them are the same, some straight-up have all their leaves replaced with lights, some are just. Glowy trees. No other explanation.

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers back, trying his best not to disturb the very-formal atmosphere of the dinner, even though they’re seated away from the adults and the politics at one of the kid’s tables.

They sit awkwardly by the table and fidget with the fancy cutlery.

“At least the food’s good?” Lance says, weakly. Shiro sends him a Look but Lance doesn’t have enough time to be embarrassed because he sees something. “Shiro? Look!”

There are three kids, younger than he and Shiro are, sneaking around kind of poorly. Though, seeing how literally no one else has noticed or called them out, they can’t be doing too badly or be too out of place. No, what catches his eye isn’t just the kids. It’s that two of them have matching bright red scars up their left cheeks, and the other has an actual one at the same spot. Exactly the same, as far as Lance can tell, as the ones on his and Shiro’s cheeks, hidden under the make-up they were forced to wear to conceal the marks for propriety.

“No way,” Shiro breathes.

“Yes way,” Lance says, promptly standing up and grabbing his soulmate by the wrist. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go meet them!”

“Lance no,” Shiro hisses under his breath, tugging him lightly back to their seats. “We can’t-“

“Shiro,” Lance says, voice eerily calm despite how excited he is, still dragging Shiro along. “We’re still young and unimportant in the grand scheme of the Garrison. We aren’t even old enough to enrol in it! Shiro, we can do whatever we want right now and it won’t affect them. Let’s go meet our soulmates.”

-

“Your names are?” Green, or Pidge - as she introduced herself as, asks.

“I’m Lance,” Lance says, grinning. “This stick in the mud is Shiro.”

“Hey!” Shiro protests playfully, and Red - Keith - snickers.

“Guys,” Yellow - Hunk, Lance reminds himself - cuts in, looking strangely worried. “Isn’t this, you know, kind of creepy?”

“Creepy?” Lance finds himself asking, immediately concerned. “Do we not…?” He can feel his thoughts spiralling in multiple directions, out of control, before Shiro places a gentle hand on his shoulder grounding him.

“I’m sure they have an explanation,” he says lowly, voice soothing.

“Yeah, we do,” Keith says. “Sorry, Hunk didn’t mean it like that. And it’s a very long story.”

“It’s a coincidence,” Pidge instantly protests. “A series of strange coincidences. Very strange coincidences.”

-

“‘kay, you’re absolutely right, Hunk,” Lance agrees after hearing what the rest of his soulmates have to say. “This is kind of creepy.”

Next to him, Shiro’s silent, but Lance knows him well enough - knows that he’s still digesting the information.

“Right?” Hunk nods. “So we wanted to ask the Alteans some stuff, that’s why we kinda. Broke into the Garrison.”

“Hunk,” Pidge hisses, nudging their soulmate.

“What?!” Hunk says. “It’s true!”

“Ask the Alteans what stuff?” An unfamiliar voice asks, and all five of them startle, Keith and Pidge even readying their fists for a fight. Shiro’s arm comes up in an attempt to block and Lance finds himself mirroring Hunk, fingers twitching for something at his side _(that he doesn’t have, why are his instincts wired like that?)_.

“You’re the Advisor!” Pidge gasps, as all of them relax.

“Indeed, but you can call me Coran,” Coran - whose name is definitely strangely familiar to Lance, and if Shiro’s face is anything to go by, it’s definitely familiar to him as well - says. “And what are your names?”

“I’m Hunk, that’s Pidge, Keith, Shiro and Lance,” Hunk points out one by one, even as Coran’s face does a weird thing. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know that you have questions,” he says, cheery front back in full force as he seats himself on the ground next to them. “What do you want to know?”

“Can you tell us about the human Paladins?” Shiro asks carefully, and Coran’s face does that thing again, much to Lance’s confusion-amusement-interest.

“Of course! Where should I start?”

“How about from the beginning?” Keith asks - stern and eager for information in all the ways Lance knows Shiro doesn’t like to show. Coran’s face does a thing that Lance can finally recognise - that’s melancholy - as he hesitates for his answer.

They wait for it.

“We should get the Princess here as well, then!” Coran says, standing up so suddenly that the rest of them scramble. “Come on! We can join them at the big table.”

The five of them exchange looks - Lance shrugs, Shiro looks hesitant, Pidge and Hunk glance at each other, but Keith’s already trailing behind the Altean. They all follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original endnotes had me freaking out over trees. Evidently, I'm not putting that here. :)
> 
> Anyway, I'm out of back-up chapters, so it might take a little more time for another chapter to come up, especially with my muse going... literally everywhere. 
> 
> I'm also... coming to the epiphany... that this fic is very very messy. Very. And self-indulgent. Wow.


End file.
